Return of the lost piece
by Fluffymausi-chan
Summary: Imagine a puzzle with a lost piece. It's like a bothering and annoying itch. Two decades this piece was haunting me, without me realizing, the piece was actually me. [Coverart belongs to me]


_Hey there,_

 _I am fairly certain that this fandom is as active as a dead volcano, but I had this idea for a fanfic and needed to get it out of my system. Even if the chances of encountering a shiny Pokémon are higher than the amount of people stumbling over this fic._  
 _I rewatched the whole show again (in German) and it's still one of my favorites. Disney's Fillmore might have been one of the reasons I fell in love with crime stories in the first place. And I had to write a tribute to that funny, educational and meaningful cartoon. I proofread it many times but if you still find any mistakes, please let me know! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Enjoy!_  
 **Disclaimer:** _I don't own Disney's fillmore and don't earn money with this fanmade story!_

* * *

 **Return of the lost piece**

Years. It had been years where there had been no contact. No communication. No letters. No phone calls. No e-mails. No signs of life. Only a carton box filled with memories in her closet. Underneath other boxes that marked stations in her life. Middle school. High school. College. It seemed a life away that she swore that she would stay in contact with all of them. It had looked like the perfect thing to say. Even though she had known that the possibility that they would stick together despite different schools and later on jobs and families was extremely small, she had uttered that hollow phrase to make the goodbyes less devastating. Always sarcastic Tehama with Anza, her partner in crime. Clumsy O'Farrell with his good heart and Junior Commissioner Vallejo with his booming voice. They had been a great team and Ingrid would have liked for it to stay like this, but things were bound to change. Nothing had stayed the same.

When she graduated middle school, she could have opted to stay with the group, but after long talks with her sister and her father, she had come to the conclusion that that would be the choice her heart would make although it would not the best one at that. With her marks, she had the chance to get into a better high school and college afterwards. Her family hadn't pressured her on this matter though. She had come to this conclusion after giving it serious thought. Even now, she felt the pang of guilt and sadness that she had to leave the one group of friends that had accepted her and had made her feel loved.

Ingrid sighed and continued her cleaning. Just by seeing this cardboard box with the yearbooks, photos, badge and that familiar orange belt, she was thrown back into middle school. Back into memories of easy chases, laughable motives and stupid perps. Totally different from her daily routine. After high school and some years studying law at college, she went and became a respectable detective. There were still chases, but mostly it involved races by car and even though the motives of some perps were stupid and incomprehensible, they used other methods against the cops than marbles on the floor or spilled milk etc. Ingrid took a look at the scar on her right upper arm. Four years after that incident when a suspect had opened fire on her and grazed her with a shot. It had been nothing serious but it had been a warning. Real life crime was far from similar to the crimes in middle school. It was dangerous and life threatening. But still, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Caressing the worn down belt and the still sparkling badge, she smiled. Right now, she was also in the possession of a badge as well as a gun, but it never felt the same. Perhaps because of her partner. Or partners. They couldn't keep up with her and her way of thinking. Therefore her chief always assigned someone else of the Force to work with her. She had heard them talking about her. In the women bathroom. In the break room. In the parking lot. At the crime scene. Even though they had tried to keep it to themselves, she had caught wind of their bashing. She wasn't a great detective for nothing. It was still the same as in middle school. Or high school. Or college. Some things didn't change and human behavior, especially jealousy and envy were powerful emotions that made working together with someone else a pain in the butt. She wasn't even doing anything besides working on the case at hand, but they still found a smorgasbord of things to criticize her and her photographic memory. They weren't like him and his easy going but passionate handling of the job.

Cornelius Fillmore.

She missed him. Especially when things looked as if she had been cut from all the other social beings in the department. Her workplace was borderline toxic as of now and she dreaded heading back into the frosty section she called her office. But crime didn't sleep and she wanted to be a part in changing something for the good. It was all thanks to him and his reckless behavior, whenever he was pursuing someone, and his overly encouraging pep talks. He had wanted to change something, like his old partner Wayne had done so long ago. Heck, she wouldn't be surprised if he was still chasing criminals and trying to make them reflect on their actions. Always optimistic Fillmore. She could picture him enthusiastically pep talking a random guy in a cell over a triteness like spilled soda on the street. He had a way of words. But not always.

There was one time he had remained silent and therefore unreadable. The day she had told him she would not follow the rest of them and go to the elite high school, she had chosen together with her family. They had just been about to separate in front of her house, but he had stood still, as if she had backhanded him in the most hurtful way imaginable. It had made leaving him even harder. She had hurt him. Bad. But there had been no way around it. She was clever and smart. It would have been stupid not to go to the best schools there were, even more if she wanted to fight crimes in the future. So she had opted for the path her heart had chosen to ignore up to this point and she had been prepared for a huge discussion, a fight, some loud words and a pizza as a peace offering afterwards. But he had just stood there, silently watching her before nodding and heading home. At first she had wanted to call him, explain her reasoning to him again, but she hadn't known how to. Her heart had ached, she had felt like a traitor and the worst part of it had been, that she couldn't go to Fillmore, her best friend, to talk about it. He had been her best friend and shelter when things turned sour. But not anymore.

Ingrid sighed again and put the lid back on the cardboard box. After cleaning the closet, she put the box back on its place, back beneath the boxes with her memories from high school, back beneath the memories of her college life and back beneath a layer of her current life as a cop. But still, that old cardboard box was far from her mind. She could have buried it somewhere deep under the soil and it would still haunt her. A last sigh escaped her lips and she closed the closet door, time to work on her last report before calling it a day.

* * *

"So, anything interesting happening to you yesterday? It was your day off after all."

Orlando Welch was her current partner and by far the most obnoxious one she had the 'pleasure' of meeting.

Ingrid didn't look up from her papers, high concentration evident on her face. It didn't stop him from rephrasing his question.

"Did you go on a date? You know, some of us are wondering if you are seeing someone right now."

 _Sure thing buddy. This is totally unrelated to the rumor I was easy to get. Or the rumor I was a lesbian. I would give your rhetoric skills an F, and your personality a bold F as well._

Her eyes were still trained on her work at hand, but she gave him an answer anyway.

"If you think there is a romantic aspect to cleaning, than yes, I think I had a very romantic evening indeed."

Her neighbor opened his mouth to give some smartass retort, but she beat him to it.

"Oh yeah and by the way. If I had to choose between a mop and you, whom do you think I would want to spend my time with? I guess you are smart enough to solve that riddle on your own."

"Bitch."

"Eloquent." Ingrid said drily without even looking up to see him walking away briskly. Probably to spread more rumors about her and her mop-boyfriend. The gossip factory was being overused.

"Third! My office." A deep voice called from the front.

"Yes, Sir." Ingrid had a hunch that she was about to get admonished again. Great start into the day. Making her way past the open breakroom (and hearing Welch spouting a bunch of bull-crap about her) she reached the office of her chief. Ingrid knocked once and went inside after being called in. Standing in front of the huge desk of Captain Dean Frazer, a veteran in the force but still sharp and a man Ingrid respected, she felt small once again. He had seen the worth in her and made her join his department. But despite his cleverness, he thought it a good idea to match her with officers that despised her because of who she was. A clever young woman with a photographic memory that came in handy in this line of work, but was also a curse at the same time. She could still see Fillmore's unreadable face before he turned and left her world.

"I take it you met with Welch already? Any problems?"

 _He is a douchebag. You should have fired his ass already. His only skills are running his mouth and keeping the gossip coming. There is no worth in him … oh yeah, Fillmore would have disagreed with me here._

Ingrid refrained from sighing in front of her boss and instead shook her head. There was no point in arguing about her partner. Police work required two partners and she wanted to be a good detective, so she had to go by the book, even if it meant partnering up with a douchebag like Welch.

"No, Sir!"

"Good. As for the case was assigned to me, it's about the accident in the Italian restaurant from two days ago."

"You mean Old Tony's? I thought it was already done?" Ingrid raised an eyebrow and took the file Frazer was handing her. Scanning through it she noticed some new hints that had lacked before. Mostly forensic traces. This hadn't been her case, but she had heard about the death of the elderly Italian man.

"It wasn't an accident." She stated drily.

"Exactly. The evidence was falsely labeled by a forensic and therefore never taken into account. I have ordered internal investigation. Perhaps it was only a mistake but if there is a slight chance that there is a mole or someone here that would manipulate evidence, I want it investigated."

"I understand." Ingrid dreaded what those investigations would do to the already non-existent teamwork in this office. Antarctica would sound like a summer resort when mistrust joined his friends envy and jealousy. Sure as hell, she would be the first one to be blamed. The prodigy with a gothic style.

"Did you summon me to warn me beforehand?"

Captain Frazer smiled knowingly beneath his beard.

"Contrary to everyone's belief, I do know _what_ 's happening in my office."

She caught the hint at the gossip factory three doors down next to the coffee machine. Perhaps Welch was already fired, he just had yet to open his mail on his temporary desk. Probably buried underneath a bunch of newspapers, mostly with the same headlines about the upcoming mall with its stupid yellow bull mascot he liked so much.

"What do you want me to do?"

Frazer leant back in his dark chair and folded his hands.

"I want you to solve that case and bring that murderer to justice. But because of your, let's say difficulty, to be paired with someone in my office, and the internal investigations about to take place, I asked for an officer from the special investigation division."

Once again, Ingrid had a hard time to refrain from sighing. Her Captain was a great man but his choices were as bad as partnering a cheetah with a sloth. It was bound to end in a disaster. They couldn't keep up with her and slowed her down. The prospect of having to work together with another self-proclaimed master-detective was anything but pleasant. But she had a job to do and she would get that murderer.

"Yes, Sir!"

"You will be given the other details about the case from Marshall. As for your new partner, I ordered him to examine the crime scene again. You will find him there. Dismissed."

Ingrid saluted and exited the office. There was no point in asking for the name of her new partner, she would meet him eventually. At least she didn't have to work with Welch anymore. Gripping the case file a little tighter in her hands, she passed the break room and overheard the expression 'Mop-queen'.

She couldn't help but smirk.

 _Creative._

* * *

After showing her badge to the officer she ducked under the crime scene tape to get a better look at the destruction. More than half of the restaurant was blown away and the roof had completely burned down. The fire fighters had been quick to extinguish the fire before it had the chance to spread but most of the devastation had not been done by the fire but by an explosion in the basement. The whole left side where there had once been huge windows was blown away. It was a miracle that Tony Lolaico bad been the only one caught in the blast. No pedestrians, no drivers, no staff and no family members.

A mixture of water and soot was dripping everywhere. She was glad to be wearing her heeled boots and dark trousers. Her coat would have to be washed after this but it was secondary. The cold November wind blew through the devastation and ruffled her short hair. Carefully she made her way to the back of the establishment. Turning her flashlight on, she took in the degree of destruction as she was nearing the fire source.

Suddenly her heart jumped. Something made her hair stand on end and was making her uneasy. Slowly she reached for her gun while turning the flashlight off. Someone was here with her. Footsteps in the wet ashes, intakes of breath, murmured words. A flashlight. She turned around, her gun ready to shoot if necessary but went rigid when she came face to face with a gun barrel and a painful memory. One that hit her right in the photographic memory.

"Fillmore."

He had dropped his flashlight to draw his weapon but she could clearly see his glasses, his bald head and his surprised expression. The cold wind had found a way through the skeleton of the once famous family restaurant and made her realize that she was still pointing her gun at her best friend from a different life years ago. Slowly she lowered and secured her gun while holding his gaze. He was copying her actions and also not breaking the eye contact. She felt that if she would blink, he would be gone again, leaving her with another painful memory that would haunt her forever.

"Ingrid?"

His voice was deeper than all those years ago and he had grown a lot. No to mention his physique was rather nice. Even with the heavy leather jacket and the dark green sweater underneath she noticed that he had been working out. The tooth pick between his lips had been lost in the ashes when he had laid eyes on her face.

She could only nod. There were so many things she wanted to say, to ask, to correct. But she didn't know how or where to start. Destiny had a rude way of interpreting her wish of wanting to see her old friend again. She wasn't prepared for this confrontation and she hadn't exactly thought it possible that they would meet each other at a crime scene.

Fillmore bent down to pick his flashlight up again. It seemed he was also at a loss for words. That was something new if one could erase that devastating goodbye that time. Which she couldn't. Someone had to breech the silence.

"So, you are the officer from the special investigation division?" She hated how faint her voice sounded, as if she was scared to utter a single question. Or scared of his reaction.

He stood back up again and brushed his jeans off.

"Yeah. I take it you're that fancy elite detective I heard about from Vallejo?"

She cringed two times. First because of the title of elite detective which had brought her more jealousy and dislike than anything good. And second because it meant that Vallejo and Fillmore were still a team. A team she wasn't a part of. Everything in her itched to ask what had become of their other teammates but she didn't know if this question was appropriate considering that she had left them without a proper reason. Probably not the wisest decision. But looking back at the disaster with Fillmore, perhaps going in silence had been better than telling the truth. The truth and her reasons had not been enough to ease the fall their friendship had taken. She briefly wondered if he had felt the same when his old partner had left him before she had joined the force.

"So you didn't know it was me you were being paired up with?" Vallejo must have seen her name and therefore she found it hard to believe that he hadn't told Fillmore about it.

"Or would you have dropped the case if you heard I was being your partner?" She asked quietly. The answer might cause another havoc in her heart but it was better than asking herself the same question over and over. That stupid Why-question. She hated it.

He searched her gaze and for a second she thought he would give her his crooked smile but he shook his head with a sigh.

"Can't believe you would think that. Nah. Vallejo obviously knew about it and set me up with you. He heard that you have a hard time keeping a constant partner from your Captain."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. Great, now the whole police staff would know about her incompatibility. What a huge help to make it easier with other partners in the future.

"Also,-"

Fillmore began and she sensed that he was about to say something serious.

"- this restaurant belonged to a friend of Anza. He begged me to get that guy who was responsible for his friend's murder." Ingrid's eyes widened. She hadn't known about that. How should she have known? They hadn't been in contact for almost two decades now.

Fillmore continued in his deep voice that made her shiver. It sounded the same but also so different.

"He made me look over the report your office had made and I noticed that there weren't any forensic details. It's a miracle that something like that wasn't noticed sooner."

It was a critic directed at her department and even though she had wanted to clear its name by making up excuses, there were none. Someone screwed up in his job and now there was a dead man and a murderer on the loose. She sighed.

"My office has a great captain but the main part of the force got in by recommendations. Only a few are real good but it was a huge mistake and there is no excuse for our screw-up. I will get that murderer."

She turned around to continue her investigation when she heard him chuckle behind her. A sound from a memory. Like a music box that held her sweetest tunes so she would never forget them.

"I beg to differ, Third. _We_ will get that murderer. I was about to examine the pizza oven."

She couldn't help that tiny crooked smile that spread on her ruby lips, as she was following him to the actual crime scene. It felt like something was back. Not yet fixed but it was back on the board. Like a puzzle piece, ready to be back in its rightful place.

* * *

"The pizza oven was the fire source. It says so in the report." Ingrid didn't have to look at the file again and just recited it. Fillmore examined the oven and the entourage with his flash light.

"It also says it was a malfunction of the oven, but let's face it, how could the oven explode by itself? A pizza oven no less?"

"Carbon-monoxide?"

"There was no witness for the blast, so there is no point in asking if someone saw a blue flash." Fillmore mumbled and she nodded. Unfortunately no one had seen the explosion. It had been around 4 a.m. when the residents around the area had been woken up by the blast. Two weeks prior to this, the whole complex had been bought by an investor from overseas. Most of the other shops of the complex had been vacated and just the old restaurant as well as a laundromat and a boutique had yet to transfer their business elsewhere.

"Perhaps it was to speed up his decision to leave this place?" Ingrid's hands, clad in white gloves, caressed the handle of the door that led to the back of the kitchen. This had to be the fridge and storage room. The heavy door was dented by the blast but it was still intact. If Tony Lolaico had known there would be an explosion, he could have taken the fridge as shelter. But the old man hadn't known and was therefore caught in the devastating blast. But how? The firefighters didn't find a clue of a bomb. Perhaps she was right with her assumption about the carbon-monoxide? The oven was old and the victim had used him traditionally with coal. If there was a chance the oven had a leak, the idea of an explosion was not so farfetched.

"You mean the investor planned it so that Tony was no longer a hindrance?" Fillmore gave her a thoughtful look behind his glasses. "If that was true, than they wouldn't have to deal with Tony anymore and the other two shops would leave the complex faster. Fear can be a strong motivation."

"Right. But if they still refuse, do you think we might have another bomb attack around here?"

"Two times in the same building? That would be stupid. I don't think they want to risk getting discovered by doing such a slip-up. But hey, you know how some criminals are." Fillmore gave her his trademark lopsided grin that made her cheeks flush. Might just be because of the cold.

The wind howled around them and the charred frame of the building was swaying dangerously. Ingrid gave it a skeptical look.

"I don't think we should stay here any longer. Perhaps a visit to that investor is in order?"

"What did the forensic say about the victim?"

Ingrid rolled her eyes. He was still overly invested in his crime-solving. She should feel annoyed by the fact that she was being ignored, but she couldn't bring herself to be angry.

"They found melted yellow plastic on the left side of his charred face. It was burned into his skull."

She had seen the photo in the file and no amount of training and years on the force would make looking at such a victim any easier. Even worse was the knowledge that the man had been a close friend of Anza.

"So that means, there was something of yellow plastic between him and the fire." It sounded like a question to her but perhaps he was just rambling again. Either way she thought it best to keep the conversation going. It was far better than the tense silence whenever there was a pause.

"I don't think the victim used a lot of plastic in this traditional restaurant. Most of the furniture, decorations and materials are either of wood, stone or from other natural resources," Ingrid stated while examining the destruction in front of her.

"Could you stop saying 'victim' all the time? He had a name and I would like to call him Tony even if he's dead." It sounded cold with this changed voice of his. She shrugged but refrained from starting a discussion about her way of speaking. Calling them 'victim' was easier for her. For her, they had lost a name after they were dead and laying in front of her, a stranger that was solving their case. There was no reason to keep it personal. It was a job and she would bring justice. She just wasn't ready to add a bunch of names to her photographic memory to accompany the faces of all kind of victims.

"Anyway, there is no plastic that matches the one on his face." Her flashlight roamed around aimlessly when she spotted something in the dining room across from where she stood. The large windows as well as part of the wall were destroyed and had been thrown out onto the street. The clearance had taken a whole day. Stepping out from the kitchen, Ingrid went to the window frame that had caught her sight.

"Crackers."

A chuckle behind her made her aware what she had just uttered.

"Still saying that? I thought you would have a better expression by now. You know, after all those years studying to become an elite cop."

Was there a bitter tone to this statement or was it just her imagination? She didn't turn around to answer him. Instead she was pulling a small knife out of her belt and began scrapping at the white substance that was leaking between the window and its frame. Smelling at it, she cocked her head to the side while searching for a match in her head. So lost in thought, she didn't realize he had stepped up to her and bent down to take a sniff at the substance as well.

"Glue."

"Someone manipulated the windows." Ingrid said while using her flashlight to take a look at the other window frames scattered around them on the floor and outside on the sidewalk. "And I guess they knew that he used an old oven and didn't have a functioning ventilation. In the report it says the airing has been an issue. The vic- I mean Mister Lolaico ordered a workman to take care of it for this week. So the culprit must have known that the ventilation was no longer working and therefore he had also taken the opportunity to seal the windows so there would be no air circulation." An idea was beginning to form inside her head and judging by his expression, he had caught up to her train of thoughts. While looking up at him even with her heeled boots, she noticed that he had a small stubble. It gave him a more mature look. She could still barely make out his warm eyes behind his glasses in the dim light of their flashlights and the street lamps from outside the devastated restaurant. But from his posture she concluded he was relaxed.

Even more so when he was giving her his famous smirk.

"As sharp as ever."

She reciprocated it with a small smile of her own. Forgotten was the case at hand and the clues. She wanted to hug and touch him, to make it real. But there were still things left unsaid and it stood between them, and therefore making it impossible to reach out to him.

"I learned from the best."

Silence set in again. This time there wasn't much space between them and she could smell his cologne. He had straightened up again and was now nearly towering over her. Even though she was smaller in statue she didn't feel intimidated by his size. Somehow, even after all those years, she felt as if they were on the same page. That hadn't changed. Were there any other changes she hadn't noticed yet? She couldn't stop her eyes from drifting to his left hand. No ring, which wasn't saying much though. Some cops chose not to wear their rings while being on duty. Safety and all. He caught her gaze and she felt busted. But instead of calling her out on it, he just buried his hand in his leather jacket before returning to the oven. If felt worse seeing his back again like this. It was just too similar and it made her snap.

"Fillmore, stop!"

He did and casually turned around. An unasked question visible on his face, but he was not prepared for the assault she unleashed upon him. Two decades they hadn't seen each other. Two decades she had felt miserable about that particular evening. Two decades she had missed him. Her best friend of her other life. And right now, nothing would stop her rant. She had to get it out of her system and if that meant lashing out at a crime scene in the middle of the night in a destroyed restaurant, then so be it.

"Do you think this whole thing here is easy for me? That it doesn't have any effect on me? You show up after all those years and expect it to be the same or what?" Her voice had not risen, but she fixed him with a cold glare. Fillmore raised an eyebrow.

"Is this an interrogation now?"

She crossed her arms.

"It depends. Do I have to take you into custody or cuff you so that we can finally talk?"

Despite his rising annoyance that was clearly visible, he chuckled at her last statement. It made her anger vanish. Sighing she brushed her bangs from her forehead. It wasn't like her to lose control so easily. She was always calm and collected, but he had a talent for making her react.

"Let's make a deal? We will talk about it after we find out who murdered Tony? Sounds good to you?"

He had come up with his outstretched hand and as if she had always known, they bumped fists like so long ago. She held his gaze.

"Deal."

First they had a murderer to catch. The enchantment of reminiscence was slowly fading away and both realized something that made them freeze in shock. A slow ticking, barely noticeable. Had they been too caught up in the past to notice it?

"Shit!" Fillmore cursed and both bolted for the chimney. The ticking came obviously from inside the shaft.

"They must have placed it inside here after the explosion."

"Yeah. Guess they put it in through the damper up there." Ingrid gestured to the black hatch that hung limply on one hinge. Must have been used to cure meat and fish. A universal oven. "How much time do we have?"

Fillmore's posture was as tense as she felt. He climbed up on the oven to look inside the hole. His shoulders flexed beneath his sweater and jacket. She had no time to appreciate it.

"I think less than 7 minutes."

Immediately she grabbed her radio to inform her captain.

"Captain! We need back-up and the bomb squad ASAP. We are in the Italian restaurant at 21st Street and there is a bomb that's about to blow up. 7 minutes are remaining!"

"Sh-. Get out of there, both of you! I am sending the squad but they might not get there in time. Try to get most of the residents to leave the area!"

"Yes, Sir!"

In her haste she dropped her flashlight while putting her radio back in her coat. Everything was happening far too fast. Fillmore jumped down from the oven and stirred up dry ashes that were caught in her black hair. She coughed once.

"I think the blast might only be enough to destroy the building but most of the houses around might be out of range."

"Might?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Explosives etc. were never my field of work. That's where Anza is the best. Let's start the evacuation!"

He bent down to gather her flashlight, while she was already running out of the building. Looking back she saw him freeze again. What had he seen? There was no time to ask. She thought about the best way to get the civilians to leave their houses and came up with a plan in a matter of seconds. Noise to wake them up and notice her. She hurried to her office car across the street and activated the horn which blared over the empty alley. After a few seconds she held the loudspeaker in her shaking hands.

5 minutes.

"This is not a drill! We have a bomb alert! You have to leave your home immediately. Leave everything behind and alert your neighbors! The bomb squad is on its way! I repeat: This is not a drill! We have a bomb alert! You have to leave your home immediately. The bomb squad is on its way!"

In the houses around her, lights were turned on and people were rushing out in their pajamas. Ingrid directed them to a street a few blocks down while keeping an eye on the restaurant. Fillmore was still in there. What was he doing for God's sake! More and more people left the area and Ingrid could hear the approaching backup. Leaving her car which was drowning the chaos around them out with its blaring horn, she run back into the restaurant.

"Fillmore! What are you doing? This is about to get real ugly, let's go!"

He was kneeling next to the oven and trying to pull something out with utmost care.

"Are you crazy?!" She hissed afraid that her voice would be enough to set the bomb off, if his handiwork wasn't enough already to put them in danger.

He had a toothpick back between his teeth and a look of determined concentration on his face. She stepped carefully behind him and glanced into the oven. Something yellow was stuck under the bomb. The plastic they had found on the body obviously belonged to this.

"Had spotted it while picking up your flashlight. We can't let it be destroyed if it it's the proof we were looking for." He explained in a hushed tone. She glanced at her watch and paled even more if that was even possible with her skin tone.

"We are running out of time. A photo might not be enough?" He shook his head.

"The heat has deformed it. If we don't get a piece of it out, we will lose the evidence."

"And our lives while we are at it." She stated drily. Her body was shaking from stress.

"It's stuck." Fillmore grunted while pulling a little harder.

"So are we."

"You are not helping!"

"Then let me help you." She hissed and handed him her knife. A smirk formed on his lips but she could see that he was nervous as well. No kidding. They were about to get blown up before even putting an end to their dispute. Great timing. She would have laughed but didn't want to disrupt his concentration.

2 Minutes.

"Disco!"

And he had the nerve to tell her, her expression was outdated.

"I got it!" He whispered excitedly and showed her the small piece of plastic he had managed to cut off. Her photographic memory itched at the sight of it, but there was no time for a deep reflection on it. She gave him a humorless smile and glanced around the room. This place was far from what she had expected her grave to look like. He turned around, ready to bolt out, even if it would be pointless, when she caught sight of something else. A risky idea.

1 Minute.

But he would not judge her. Not reckless Cornelius Fillmore. Grabbing his hand she made a run for the back of the room, opened the heavy door, crossed the storage room, and another door, to be welcomed by an icy cell. She turned around and came face to face with him. Fear was obvious on both their expressions. He pulled her down with him next to the remains of frozen fish and hugged her tight. He was real.

"Ingrid, I am …."

The rest was drowned out by the explosion.

* * *

The ringing in her ears hurt like hell but she was still alive. She shook her head to clear her mind when the events prior to the explosion began to settle in. Fillmore was lying on top of her in the dark cold and she fumbled for his or her own flashlight.

"Fillmore?" she whispered throatily but there was no answer. She didn't know how long she had been out but the cold was starting to make itself noticeable by gluing her to the frozen ground. The flashlights were both lost to her and she struggled to lift the man a little so she could breath. He was showing no signs of life and it made her heart nearly stop. She turned him around with all her force and kneeled next to him. Searching his pockets with her numb fingers, she finally held his flashlight in her hand. In the cold light, even he seemed pale. It made her not any less nervous.

"Fillmore, wake up!" She tried again, this time louder while also shaking his shoulder. He coughed before opening his eyes. He blinked a few times and seemed like he had trouble orientating himself, but after a few moments he had caught up to the events as well. She heaved a sigh of relief.

"You are okay." She whispered with misty eyes before touching his forehead with her own. A damp hand reached up into the nape of her neck, but she let him, despite the uncomfortable cold feeling. She closed her eyes to relish in his presence. He was okay and they were both alive.

"I am sorry-"

"I am sorry-"

Both opened their eyes and looked at each other in surprise. Fillmore was the first to crack a smile. Leave it to him to find something to smile about even after a near-death experience.

"That was pretty reckless, Officer Fillmore."

"As was your plan, Officer Third."

" _Detective_ Third," She corrected.

He chuckled while caressing the nape of her neck in slow circles.

"At least we are safe and I still have the evidence. I think it was totally worth it."

"And there is no Vallejo to yell at you. This time the mess wasn't your fault."

"Trust me, he always finds a hair in the soup." Fillmore grumbled. Her ears were still ringing and judging by his look, so were his own. From afar she thought she could hear the firemen and horns in the night, but it could also be an aftereffect of the explosion.

They stayed silent for a while, just enjoying their proximity, when she breached the quietness.

"We still make a good team." She whispered.

She felt him stiffen under her and regretted broaching the subject at this moment.

"I thought we would have this talk after getting the perp?"

"What better place to have a heart to heart conversation than a freezer of a blown up restaurant?"

He chuckled.

"Better than the oven, that's for sure."

She knew he was trying to ignore the elephant in the room, even if it was sitting close and hooting at them like her car horn. That was not going to happen. She gave him a knowing look and he sighed in defeat.

"Has anyone already told you that you are quite stubborn?" He tried to make it sound like he was annoyed but his actions betrayed his words. He was still caressing her neck and she liked it.

"On many occasions. Now let me get this off my chest, will you?"

He made an attempt to say something, but refrained from doing so. His hand stopped his movements. She was still bent over him and was glad that she didn't have to strain her voice so much by talking loud.

"I am sorry Fillmore." He wanted to interject but she silenced him with a glare and continued. "I should have explained my reasons better, especially since I thought myself a rhetorical genius at that moment in my life. But I screwed up. I destroyed something very precious to me by going the way I went and it still bothers me."

Silence hung now like a heavy blanket above them. She stared down at him to see any reaction but the only thing she got was a sad smile. It rudely tugged at her heartstrings.

"I hope you can forgive me." She added in a whisper.

He resumed his caressing and she felt a heavy weight being lifted from her chest, even if it was just for a short second.

"Would you do it again? Choose your career over us?"

Why did her choice sound so heartless when he talked about it? She carefully examined his face. He was waiting for an honest answer and she had thought about this question a lot over the last two decades. Ingrid gently caressed his cheek.

"Yes." He let her continue for which she was extremely grateful. "You know, by joining the safety patrol at X middle school and by being your partner, you made me realize my potential. I saw that my grades and my photographic memory might be useful for more things than prices and praises. I can actually change something for the better, just like you had shown me when we were kids. And for that I am grateful, Fillmore. So yeah, I would choose this way again. Even though it has been the hardest choice I have ever been forced to make."

Fillmore glanced blankly at her and she felt the nervousness seeping in again. Like the cold.

"You are right about one thing. You really have a way with words, Miss rhetorical genius. Swept me off my feet with your talk." He winked at her and she smiled embarrassedly.

"I prefer Joan of Arc over this new nickname."

He laughed throatily and she felt a shiver run down her back.

"Also, the thing about being great partners is also true. Ingrid, I knew what was going through that stubborn head of yours. The whole safety patrol was wondering about your choice and we were all ready for it. Well, most of them were." His voice had turned into a murmur as if he was being embarrassed.

"I knew you would try your best at another high school but seeing you struggle because of us… I don't know, I thought it might be easier if we weren't there to hold you back. We hadn't wanted to interfere with your way-" Ingrid opened her mouth to interject but he kept on talking. "- and we are happy you made it this far. What am I saying? We are proud what you have become. An elite detective! Tehama and Danny are keeping track of your success by the way. You are nearly a legend among –"

"Would you leave my life again without a proper goodbye?"

She knew he had wanted to avoid that particular memory but she had to know. He took a deep breath and gave her another sad smile that showed her just how much he was hurting. Words weren't even necessary at this moment but he uttered them anyway.

"Yes, if it meant being partly responsible for such a fine detective. But I hated myself for it. I wanted to make it easier for the both of us. You know, without tears and empty promises." She almost giggled. The day before she had had the same thought. "And I hurt us. For that I am sorry, Ingrid."

He meant it and she saw how uncomfortable he was by laying himself bare like this. She gave him an understanding smile.

"You call me Miss rhetorical genius but you have a way with words yourself, Slick." She winked and he laughed. The tension was easing up around them. They looked at each other, content to have crossed that bridge after years of ignoring its existence. It was secondary that they were still lying in a giant fridge after an explosion and it had escaped their minds that they should give a sign of life or call for help. For the first time in two decades, Ingrid was giving a damn about the rule book and it was worth it. "I will forgive you if you accept my apology as well."

"Deal, baby." He smirked while pulling her closer.

"Deal." She whispered against his lips. His fingers threaded in her short black hair as he was pulling her closer and she was eager to comply with his wish. Her ears were still ringing, someone called her name through the radio in her coat, her fingers and feet were already icy cold, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

The puzzle piece was back where it belonged.

* * *

"Murder of Tony Lolaico, destruction of a restaurant, attempted murder of two detectives-" "One officer and a detective," Ingrid interjected. "-and endangering thirty civilians. I believe he will get life sentence for his crimes. Good job you two." Captain Frazer concluded undeterred by the interruption.

"Still can't believe that his motive for the murder was a tight schedule." It was obvious that Fillmore could barely contain the hatred he felt. Ingrid could relate. After analyzing the yellow plastic, they had found out that it had been the mascot of the new mall that should take the place of the old building. With that stupid yellow bull. Her photographic memory had reminded her of Welch's newspaper-mountain. It hadn't taken them long to gather some info about that investor to get a hold on him. After some time with Ingrid and Fillmore together in the small interrogation room, the man had sung like a bird. He had placed the bull into the chimney after manipulating the air conditioner as well as the windows.

"Even worse was his plan to make the evidence disappear with a bomb after realizing he had left his business card at the crime scene. His mascot. A yellow bull, come on," She tried to lighten the mood and a crooked smile showed her that her attempt was almost a success. Frazer looked between them and heaved a sigh.

"If I had known that you were this compatible as partners, I would have ordered your transfer to my office years ago. Might have helped me avoid a bunch of headaches throughout the years." Ingrid shrugged. There was no point in denying that. Fillmore laughed.

"Sorry, Sir but I wouldn't have come here. The atmosphere doesn't strike me as comfortable as my chaotic workplace a few blocks down the road. Even if it has a clever mind in its midst." Ingrid rolled her eyes.

"And that clever mind is what you are going to take along?"

Fillmore got up from the chair, a sign that he was ready to hit the road.

"No Sir, you got something wrong. That woman is no take-away. She has her own mind and I am just lucky enough to call her my partner." Ingrid got up as well and gave her chief the letter she had written a few hours prior to this meeting. A demand for a transfer.

"Thank you for everything." She gave him a thankful smile, before she turned around and left the office of Captain Frazer for the last time with Fillmore on her heels. It felt liberating to leave this department. Fillmore was walking next to her. They passed the gossip factory, the few people she had liked to work with and came to a halt in front of the elevator. As she stepped inside the small room and turned around to take a last look at her successful place, she nodded to herself. It hadn't been a mistake. She had learned much during those years and she was already thrilled to apply her knowledge in a well-known team. And with a worthy partner at her side.

"What are you thinking about, Third?" Fillmore leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets and she gave him a secretive smile while the elevator was nearing the basement. He had cleaned up nicely and she appreciated the way his leather jacket hugged his frame. He knew that he was appealing, if his smirk was any indication to go by. Her hand reached for a red button next to the door and the fire alarm screamed over their heads. He smirked seductively and beckoned her closer.

"I thought we have much catching up to do." Her arms circled around his neck and he pulled her as close as possible against him.

His lips ghosted over hers. Teasing. Waiting. Tingling.

"I have to agree, _Detective_ Third." His smile was swallowed by her lips. The fire alarm continued to blare above them. Time stopped for a second. Between stages of their lives. A moment for them alone.

* * *

 _I hope you liked it. It was a lot of fun to write their banters and to come up with a crime, they would solve together. They really make a great couple, it's a shame the cartoon only has two seasons. But anyway, thanks for giving my story a try._  
 _Seeya around._  
 _\- your FMC_


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